Yield
by Awahili
Summary: A post-ep for "Merge with Caution." After the artifact is bagged and it's all over, Artie and Claudia have a heart to heart regarding the events of the day.


Hello all! This is my first official Warehouse 13 fic, so this is me testing the waters, so to speak. Please review and let me know how I've done, if it seems believable and "real," and especially if you liked or disliked parts or all of this. I've got a couple more in the works right now, so I want to make sure I've got the characterizations right. I think I might have stretched things a bit for my own mushy heartstrings, but hopefully I've still got them mostly in character. Thanks in advance! Also, I don't own anything about this magnificent show, I'm just borrowing them for a moment. Oh, and enjoy.

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As he had left her behind with what he'd hoped was a playful challenge, his only thought was to get out of that house as fast as possible. He'd grabbed a taxi considering Claudia still had the keys to the rental, and he couldn't walk back into that house and face her. The ride back to the hotel hadn't been nearly long enough for the full impact of his guilt to hit him, but as he opened the door and sank onto the bed it had all come crashing down.

Now, sitting in his hotel room, his mind cruelly replayed every moment in lurid detail – the ease with which he had brushed her off as they left Hansen's, the terrified look in her eyes as she bravely stepped between his tesla and Howard Nesburg, the feeling of contempt that had bubbled up within him as he kicked in the door in. Every moment from the time he'd fallen under the stockings' influence to the moment the fog had lifted played out before him, and he was beginning to feel sick.

Light footsteps in the hallway pulled him out of his thoughts, and he heard the telltale sound of someone entering the room next to his. He checked his watch, noting with muted pride it was only twenty-two minutes since he'd left her at Lauren's apartment. Subtracting the fifteen minute drive across Hartford, he reasoned it had only taken her seven minutes to get out of the cuffs. Hesitant footsteps approached the door joining their two rooms, but she didn't knock, and he wondered if she was slumped against the wood in defeat.

When he'd agreed to let her stay on at the warehouse, he'd explained it away as another pair of hands, an intern of sorts who could do all the day to day things he'd been neglecting. But in the quiet solace of his own room he admitted the truth to his mirror; he'd refused to leave her behind again, to let her wander aimlessly without a place to belong, without a home. He'd made a promise to himself – and to her, though he didn't voice it aloud – to make up for the mistakes of their shared past. And in the past year, he'd done the best he could to make good on that promise…until tonight.

Artifact influence or not, he had been viciously spiteful to the girl who trusted him, who looked up to him, and he wasn't ready to face the distrust and betrayal that was certainly still in her eyes. Unable to resist his own impulse, he rose to his feet and crept to the door. Leaning in close, he listened across the thin threshold for any sign that he hadn't irrevocably damaged one of the most important relationships in his life. Still, he couldn't bring himself to actually open the door, to see with his own eyes how much he'd hurt her today. Instead he stood completely still, paralyzed by his own fear and uncertainty.

Something fell against the door on her side, clinking softly as footsteps retreated further into the room. After a few more silent seconds he heard the muted rushing of water that signaled her shower. His fingers were on the handle before he could stop himself, and suddenly the door was open. Her room looked much like it had when she'd left it; her bag was splayed open on the bed, her clothes scattered around as if she'd sifted through it for just the perfect thing to wear. The rental car keys had been tossed carelessly onto the bedside table, and the lamp next to it was the only light source in the room.

Artie felt a pang of guilt at standing uninvited in her room, so he took a step back and made to close the door when the soft clink of metal against wood caught his attention. His head turned and his breath hitched in his chest as he caught sight of the small item Claudia had fastened to her side of the door. Trembling fingers closed around the set of handcuffs, and when he tugged them free the post-it note attached to them fluttered to the ground. He stooped to pick it up, grasping the cuffs in his left hand tightly as he read the two simple words she'd scrawled hastily on the note.

_Knock knock_

He chuckled softly as he pushed the door to, leaving it open slightly in silent invitation. As he walked further back into his own room, he inspected the cuffs for any clue as to how she'd finally escaped her confinement. There was minimal scratching around the keyhole, but nothing that indicated she'd forced it open. He tossed the restraints and the note onto his own bedside table before falling back onto the plush double bed. Before he could set his mind to the problem, he was dozing lightly.

A weight settled down on the edge of the bed, dipping the mattress slightly. He woke suddenly but didn't open his eyes, curiosity and guilt warring within him. Curiosity won out, and he squinted through half-lidded eyes at her slightly silhouetted form. She was in her pajamas - orange and black plaid pants over an oversized Dartmouth t-shirt. She must have swiped it from Pete's drawer in the first week she'd arrived; she hadn't brought much with her, after all. Her eyes connected with his in clear question, and he bit back a groan as he sat up and scooted toward the head of the bed. He propped up several pillows and rested against them as she climbed underneath the covers next to him.

Artie thought he caught the barest hint of a painful grimace on her face, but it could also easily be his own overwhelming guilt making him see things that simply weren't there. He took a deep breath then, his eyes drifting out across the room in an effort to give them both a few moments to collect their thoughts. Surprisingly it was Claudia who broke the tenuous silence.

"I'm not mad at you, you know." Her tone was that flat, typically teenage one that Artie had learned to decipher fairly quickly. Early on in her stay, he'd come up against a wall with her regarding trust and communication. He hadn't blamed her at all; after having to fend for herself for so long she simply didn't know how to function within a group structure. Toss in the rather familial setting that their particular occupation fostered, and Claudia Donovan was completely out of her depth. Artie had learned fast that the teenager often said one thing, but her tone conveyed another. Gradually, her "I'm fine's" had morphed into "I just need some me-time," which he was more than happy to afford her. Other times, especially after a difficult case that resulted in a close call for one or all of them, she needed someone to just sit with while she absorbed and processed everything. He'd started paying more attention to the tone of her voice rather than her words and, like now, he could easily figure out what was bothering her.

"You might not be mad at _me_, but you are mad." She shrugged her right shoulder, the one farthest from him, but he caught the gesture anyway. "It's understandable; you had to deal with a lot on your own. And you did good." He had told her as much just before he bolted from Lauren's, but he guessed she'd probably need to hear it again. "Not quite the debut for 'Clartie' you were hoping for?" She cracked a small smile at that, and he relaxed ever so slightly. When she didn't say anything else, he leaned over a bit and nudged her with his shoulder. This time she couldn't suppress the hiss of pain that escaped her, and Artie went from relaxed to worrying in the span of a heartbeat. "What is it? What's wrong?" He pulled away from her and turned a bit, not missing the way she was holding her left arm a little closer to her body. "Howard didn't harm you before I got there, right?" The thought of her having to face it all alone crashed back over him, and he reached out on hand to cradle her arm in his hand.

"No, he just cuffed me to the stove. It's nothing," she slipped her arm out of his fingers, but the movement produced another grimace and Artie gripped her wrist a little harder. With his free hand he lifted the sleeve of the large shirt up to her shoulder, his face tightening into a frown as he surveyed the darkening, 2 inch diameter bruise on her upper arm.

"What happened?" His eyes lifted then, confusion overwhelming him as she glanced away and bit her bottom lip. It was a gesture she did rarely, and only when she didn't want to say something for fear of upsetting him. The truth broadsided him and he let go of her as if he'd been burned. _He_ had done this to her. But when?

His mind zipped back over the evening, recalling those hectic few moments after they'd left the bar and Howard confronted them. His bag had taken the brunt of the other man's attack, and Claudia had slipped behind him fearfully. But Artie, in his artifact-striken craze, had pulled his tesla out in retaliation. She'd grabbed his arm in an attempt to stop him, and he'd rather forcefully jabbed his elbow backward to toss her off. He had harmed her – something he'd sworn he'd never do.

"Artie, it's cool. You weren't yourself so let's just forget about it and move on." His eyes snapped back to hers sharply, the intensity of his gaze letting her know that he wasn't going to just 'forget about it.' Leaving her on the bed, he stood up and quickly retrieved his handy bag. He rummaged around inside for a moment before producing a small tube of arnica cream. He'd taken to carrying it around given his proclivity for running into some unfortunate circumstances, as Leena had delicately put it. He sat back down next to her and squeezed some of the cool cream onto his fingers. Claudia sat patiently as he worked it carefully over the bruise, making sure to work it gently into the skin. He passed her the tube when he was done, and she wrapped it in her hand gratefully.

"Sorry, kiddo." He rubbed his hands together to get rid of the last of the cream, his eyes glued on the motion in an effort to avoid her own. After a few seconds, her smaller hand slipped over both of his in a gesture of forgiveness. He let out a breath and settled back against the pillows, searching for anything to say that wouldn't ramp up his already substantial awkwardness. He'd gotten only marginally better at these heart to heart chats with the young woman, and there were times she knew he had no clue what to say. She also knew that in those moments, simply staying with her was Artie's way of showing he cared. She had shared a bit of her difficult life with him (mostly disguised as snarky comments), and other things he simply guessed from her behavior and words, but he still had no idea how to handle her more emotive moments.

"It's not the same," she was the first to break their silence again, but her cryptic sentence only served to confuse him more. Finally banishing his own discomfort, he turned his head to look at her questioningly. "I know how you think, Artie. You're beating yourself up because you promised yourself that you'd never hurt me the way...the way I've been hurt before." She swallowed thickly, forcing the words past her own rising emotions. He tried to hold his own in check, tried not to think about how accurate her words really were. Because if he was being honest, the largest chunk of guilt that had settled like the weight of the world on his shoulders stemmed from the fact that he had broken his most important promise.

"Claudia, listen to me," he began in an apologetic tone, but ferocity set in her features and he snapped his mouth shut instantly.

"No! You're going to listen this time. You remember when you sent me to Detroit to help Myka and Pete with that Iron Shadow thing?" He nodded slowly, wondering where she was going with this but unwilling to interrupt her if she was working through the problem. Her head turned as she looked around the room, her words filling the space that suddenly seemed too small. "I was still so mad at Leena for the whole MacPherson, Pearl of Wisdom thing. I was psyched for any excuse not to have to even be in the same room as her. But when it was all over, they didn't arrest the guy because in the end it was the artifact that had made him do all those things. He was such a good guy, he only wanted to protect the one he loved and instead he had hurt her. But it wasn't him. And it wasn't Leena. And it wasn't you." She took a breath then, her eyes finally moving to Artie's face to see if her meaning was getting through. He smiled at her, letting her know that he understood what she getting at, and that he was grateful.

He lifted his arm in invitation, and she scooted closer to lean against him. He let his hand glide over her hair in a fatherly gesture and he let out a soft sigh as she leaned her head back over his arm.

"How'd you finally get out of the cuffs?" he asked, pulling them away from the heaviest conversation they'd probably ever had with the girl and into lighter territory. He caught her half-smirk out of the corner of his eye, and it was such a familiar and welcome expression that he felt the last of his tension melt away.

"Well, would you believe that I dismantled the blender to produce the right pieces I needed?"

"There wasn't a blender anywhere near you," he shot back, matching her light banter with an ease borne of practice.

"Okay, then I used the stove to melt the end of the spatula into a point, then picked the lock." He didn't even grace that one with a response, and finally she scoffed and rolled her eyes. "Alright, alright," she laughed. "I waited until Lauren was off the phone with the hospital and she got the keys." She sounded so disappointed in herself, but Artie nodded proudly.

"The simplest and easiest solution," he praised. "You don't always have to do things the hard way; sometimes the obvious things work best."

"Yeah, but I still want to know how to do it. Please, Artie?" She turned her puppy-dog eyes to maximum as she angled her face toward his, but he just shook his head.

"Maybe another time," he deflected. She pouted, but it wasn't a flat out "no" so she scored it in the win column.

"Hey, how did _you_ manage to get out of the cuffs, Agent Bond?"

"Simple." He lifted his free hand and nudged his glasses further up as he smiled smugly. "I just used the iron that's kept in every hotel closet and turned it into an electromagnet. Getting my bag off the bed was a snap, and I always keep a spare set of lock-picks in there."

"What don't you keep in that bag?" He scoffed at her jab but didn't reply, focusing instead on the way she sagged heavily against him.

"You're exhausted, kiddo, and we've got a long flight back to Rapid City tomorrow. Why don't you go get some sleep?" A wide yawn from the girl only punctuated his statement, and she nodded as she slipped from underneath the covers. She hesitated a moment before turning back, leaning over to kiss his head affectionately.

"Sweet dreams, old man."

"You, too," he returned, "and hey..." he waited until she turned around at the door before continuing. "Good work today. You're going to be a fantastic agent someday."


End file.
